Lindsey Barron had been a law school friend. Oak Brook had been the suburb. The back window. The joke about hating everyone. The drink in his hand. The first laugh she ever gave him.
It was not just that they were rehearsing for a lie.
They were stealing her memories to make the lie breathe.
Carissa stepped into the room.
Neither of them jumped. That would have at least suggested conscience.
Instead, Damen looked up like he’d been expecting her eventually and said, “Hey. You’re early.”
Nikki gave a little wave. “We’re practicing.”
Carissa let her gaze move from one face to the other. “I can see that.”
Damen patted the couch cushion beside him as if she were joining family game night. “You can actually help. We’re trying to make sure the timeline sounds natural.”
Carissa remained standing. “You’re using my timeline.”
Damen frowned like she was being tedious. “It’s the easiest one to remember.”
Nikki examined her nails. “It’s not like you own a meet-cute, Carissa.”
There was no apology in her voice. Not even discomfort. Just that familiar younger-sister entitlement, as if the world had again presented her with something Carissa had built and she had decided it would fit her better.